J.T. Ellison - Where All the Dead Lie

Taylor wrenched the syringe free, twisted the woman around to face Memphis and plunged the needle directly into Rachael’s neck.

Rachael froze, all fight in her suspended.

“Tell them,” Taylor growled at her. “Tell them right now, or so help me God I will shoot you full of whatever is in this syringe and send you straight to hell.”

The whites of Rachael’s eyes shone. She was genuinely scared, panicked. Taylor’s instincts were dead-on. The contents of the syringe were deadly.

Taylor saw the plan. It was ingenious, devious. With all of Taylor’s strange medication allergies, it would have been a no-brainer for Rachael to inject her with something, then claim Taylor had suffered anaphylactic shock and died from a bad drug interaction. Memphis would have been there to corroborate the story that Taylor was acting crazy, that “Maddee” was just trying to help.

Too close for comfort.

Memphis was struggling to his feet. She glanced at him and immediately felt horrible. She’d done a number on him. His nose was broken, his cheekbone probably, too. Jacques was back on the ground, groaning. Knee shots were so effective.

“Tell. Him.” She moved her thumb to the plunger. Her teeth were gritted, her own voice so raspy, so broken. She didn’t even recognize herself. But that wasn’t going to stop her.

Rachael began to cry.

“Stop that. Tell him the truth. Rachael.”

“Maddee? Taylor? Tell me what’s really going on. Right now.”

Finally. Memphis was starting to realize the situation wasn’t as it first appeared. Taylor held herself back from openly rolling her eyes.

“She’s insane. I told you.”

“You poor, stupid girl,” Taylor said. Her thumb moved, and the tiniest bit of the contents of the syringe went into Rachael’s neck. She hissed in pain.

“That stings, huh? Good to know.” Taylor pressed harder.

“Stop,” Rachael screamed. “It’s true. It’s true, okay? Evan isn’t dead. I didn’t want to kill her-she’s my friend. I just needed her out of the way.”

The transformation on Memphis’s face was impossible to watch, but Taylor forced herself. Disbelief, followed by crushing pain, and then, with the tiniest of movements that settled in his eyes and forehead, hope.

Followed immediately by rage.

Taylor quickly realized that while she was out of danger, Rachael was not. She pulled the needle from the woman’s neck, tossed the syringe across the room toward the fireplace. She shoved Rachael upright and back against the wall, then stood in front to cover her. They were smashed together, Rachael’s front against Taylor’s back. She pushed back against the wall as hard as she could, so Rachael couldn’t wiggle away. Or stab her in the back.

Memphis had taken on the look of an enraged bull. Another couple of steps and he’d be right on top of her. His voice was thick with pain and anger.

“Let. Me. Have. Her.”

“No,” Taylor said. “We need to let the police sort this out.”

“I am the fucking police.”

“No, you’re the victim’s husband. Rachael will tell us where she is. Won’t you, Rachael?”

Rachael was whimpering, in pain, in fear. Taylor didn’t care which.

“ Won’t you, Rachael?” she said again, whirling around and planting both hands against the wall on either side of Rachael’s face. “Where is she? Where is Evan?”

Rachael was going to try defiance again. Taylor was going to have to hit her. She might enjoy that a bit too much. Without turning her head, she said to Memphis, “May I have your handcuffs, please?”

That did it. Taylor congratulated herself on being a keen judge of character. Death didn’t frighten Rachael as much as the idea of incarceration.

“She’s in Moldavia. A place up in the Carpathian mountains. If she’s still alive. That’s why I chose it. Most don’t survive the first winter. You already had the papers signed. You were going to commit her anyway. I just took care of it for you.”

Taylor punched the bitch in the stomach for adding that last bit of torture.

Chatty Rachael collapsed onto her hands and knees, vomited on the drawing room floor.

“Nice shot,” Memphis said.

“Thanks. What are we going to do with her?”

“I don’t know. String her up on the grand staircase?”

“Tempting. But perhaps we can lock her in one of the rooms until the constable arrives, instead.”

Memphis was still red in the face, upset and furious. She didn’t blame him. “I suppose that would be all right. Why is she wearing my mother’s ring?”

“What are you talking about?” Taylor asked.

“The onyx ring. It’s my mother’s. She used to bring it out as a novelty at parties. Another one of the Highsmythe family legends-that ring has a hatch in it for poison.”

Taylor went to Rachael and wrenched it from her hand.

“So that’s how she did it. I knew she put something in my beer.”

She handed the ring to Memphis, watched him turn it over and over in his hands. He could barely meet her eye.

“Oh, Taylor, I am so sorry.”

“Me, too.”

“We should probably have to have someone watch her. She’s tried to commit suicide before. She told me that’s why she became a psychologist, to help combat the demons. I want to make sure she’s never able to do this to anyone again.”

“She had me considering it. She tried to drive your wife to it. I can’t say she deserves any less.”

Taylor stood straight, flexing her fingers. Punching people hurt; she had abrasions on all her knuckles.

“Um, Memphis? Trixie has been helping Rachael poison me. Giving me something hallucinogenic. I’ve been seeing ghosts, having rather vivid dreams.”

“Trixie wouldn’t do that. Would you, old girl?”

Drawn by the shouts and screams, the entire staff of the castle had gathered in the hallway. Trixie was standing in the drawing room door, hands folded in front of her.

“No, sir. I did all I could to keep the lady safe. Dr. James was acting strangely, and the lady was obviously getting ill. I kept an eye on them as much as possible.”

“Taylor, Trixie was the first one who called me. She thought something was wrong, asked me to come home. Then Madd… I mean, Rachael, called and said you were delusional, that you’d had a break. I knew I needed to get back straightaway. The trains and planes weren’t an option, so I drove. Took me all bloody night, too.”

“I’m glad you got back in time, Memphis,” Taylor said.

“Me, too.”

Rachael didn’t fight them when they handcuffed her to the fire grate. It was as safe a place as any to hold her. Trixie stood guard, five feet away, her back ramrod-straight, a heavy fireplace poker in her hands. She looked quite menacing. Rachael had retreated within herself, to some catatonic place where she could live out her vivid, sick fantasies alone. A red welt surrounded the spot where the needle had been inserted in her neck. She’d reach up to scratch it every few minutes.

Taylor and Memphis were on the other side of the drawing room, watching.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Jacques?” Taylor asked.

“I did.”

“About the threats to the family, Memphis.”

He ran his hands over his face, wincing as he touched the damaged flesh.

“Because I had no idea they were directed at anyone but my father. With him away, I felt this place was as safe as any other. I had no idea that the threat was from within. Could it be true, Taylor? Is it possible? Is Evan alive? And my son?”

His son. She didn’t know the answer to that. She shook her head and shrugged.